


Suddenly a Genius, Suddenly a Fool

by ant5b



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Sappy as hell because I was listening to SU: Movie soundrack, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Doesn't this feeling have a name?Isn't it love?





	Suddenly a Genius, Suddenly a Fool

The stars shine especially bright in Drake’s eyes as he lies on the shoreline, gasping for breath. 

He shivers hard in the cold sand, the icy waves of Audubon Bay lapping at his waist, but he doesn’t have the energy to pull himself further onto shore. His muscles ache and burn with ice-cold fire and his vision swims, making the handful of stars peeking through the clouds and smog ripple like a disturbed reflection in a puddle of water. 

Pressure builds in his chest, and he forces himself onto his side to hack up a lungful of salt water onto the sand, scraping his throat raw. The smell makes his nose burn, but the tightness in his chest eases.

Though his ears are ringing, he hears a sound over the dull crashing of waves that steadily grows louder. 

“Drake? Drake, is that you?” 

He opens his beak to answer, but what comes out of his mouth is a harsh, rattling cough rather than words. All the same, it seems to do the trick. 

“Drake!” 

Footsteps in the form of crunching sand rush nearer, and soon the stars are blotted out by a far more beloved sight. 

Launchpad kneels beside him, his hands warm on Drake’s shoulder and back. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice hushed. “I—I’ve been searching the beach in the Thunderquack, I was worried you’d washed up on the rocks if I—if I found you at all.” 

Drake coughs again before he’s able to speak, albeit croakily. “You found me,” he whispers, tiredly reaching up to clasp Launchpad’s hand on his shoulder. He musters a smile and Launchpad returns it tremulously. 

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts in his crouched stance. “Well, c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” 

Drake starts to push himself up. But before his battered body can even begin to protest Launchpad’s arms are slipping under his shoulders and bent knees, picking him up off the ground. Launchpad’s sleeve gets soaked and Drake is dripping sand and water all over his jacket, and he feels a pang of guilt that drowns him more successfully than the bay had. He’s the one who had the bright idea to attack a supervillain on a blimp, he should at the very least be able to walk himself to the Thunderquack.

Drake is on the brink of insisting exactly that when Launchpad stands back up, hitching Drake higher in his arms so he’s that much more secure in his hold. Much of Drake’s embarrassment melts into pathetic fondness, as it often does in the presence of his partner. Even without speaking, Launchpad manages to allay his insecurities like it’s nothing, calming the whirlwind that is his mind with a smile, a hand on his shoulder, a rare hug. 

Now, Launchpad’s arms are warm around him, the solid expanse of his chest even more so, and he lets himself relax into his hold. But Drake resists the urge to chase that warmth, even when adoration threatens to make his body ache more than his injuries. Launchpad is his best friend, his partner and confidant, but that’s all he is, all they are. Drake refuses to take any liberties because he knows Launchpad would allow it only on account of his injuries and Drake doesn’t want that. 

Instead, Drake looks up at his partner as he sets off at a brisk pace, slightly swaying in his arms. 

“Please tell me there’s one less weather-based villain in St. Canard,” he mumbles, eyes open to slits to stave off a mounting headache. 

Launchpad’s smile is a small, perfunctory thing when he responds. “Your plan worked, Drake. Weather Crane’s blimp went down in the bay and he was taken into police custody.”

“Yippee,” Drake mutters. 

Soon the sound of crunching sand beneath Launchpad’s feet fades away, as does the susurration of waves on the beach. There are buildings, warehouses and the like, up ahead as they venture along the harbor. 

Drake must’ve closed his eyes without realizing because the next thing he knows Launchpad has stopped walking. 

“We’re here,” Launchpad murmurs, and Drake spares the cockpit of the Thunderquack a glance as it opens with a hiss. “How’re you feeling, Drake?”

“Like I jumped into a body of water from fifty feet in the air and failed to swim to shore,” Drake grumbles. Despite the warmth of Launchpad’s body against his own he hasn’t stopped shivering. He was in the water too long and now it feels as though the cold seeped into his very bones. His chilled costume isn’t helping matters either. 

“We’ll get you warmed up, buddy,” Launchpad says quietly, but he sounds distracted as he carries Drake into the Thunderquack. 

Launchpad sets him down in his usual seat, and Drake has to forcibly restrain himself from clutching at Launchpad’s jacket to prevent him from letting go. His shivering has worsened to the point where he wraps one hand around his closed fist, gripping so tightly to prevent his shaking that his knuckles pop.

Drake watches as Launchpad roots around in the storage unit above the backseat and returns with a thick blanket and the first aid kit. The blanket he wraps around Drake’s shoulders, tugging it tight in front of his chest. He stays there for a drawn out moment, frozen with his hands clenched over Drake’s heart. He doesn’t look Drake in the eye, instead staring down at his hands with his tight expression cracking like thin ice under a great weight. 

When Launchpad remains silent, Drake hesitantly reaches for his hand. His fingers have barely brushed the back of Launchpad’s knuckles before Launchpad’s abruptly letting go and moving to turn on the Thunderquack’s heater. 

“How’s that, Drake?” he asks, “you warming up?”

Drake chuckles weakly, slumping against his seat. “Little by little, LP,” he says. He doesn’t say  _ your presence warms me more than any heater ever could, _ because he’s learned impulse control since he realized the way he felt about Launchpad went beyond friendship. 

“That’s good,” Launchpad says, but he still sounds  _ off _ , as though his mind was far afield. He places the first aid kit in his lap before looking up to scan Drake’s form. 

“Are you okay?” Drake asks.

Launchpad smiles kindly, but there’s something immeasurably tired in his eyes, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Drake?”

“I feel fine,” Drake retorts defensively, “I mean, everything hurts and I could sleep for a year, but when it comes to near-drowning I think I got the best case scenario…”

Drake trails off at the feeling of Launchpad’s hand on his cheek, and for an instant the breath stills in his aching chest. 

But Launchpad’s touch is clinical, if infinitely gentle, as he tilts and turns Drake’s head searching for signs of injury. 

“Drake, you're ...you're fine?” Launchpad says quietly, confusedly, his brow deeply knit. He lowers his hands onto the first aid kit in his lap, and Drake immediately misses their warmth. 

Drake laughs, breaking off in a coughing fit. “I know first time for everything, huh?” Something occurs to him then, and perhaps goaded by the knowledge of what Launchpad’s hands feel like on his cheek, he says in jest, “I’ve never heard you call me by my name so many times. I’m still in my costume, right? I still have a secret identity to maintain?” 

Launchpad’s expression becomes shuttered, and his gaze drops to Drake’s chest as a small, shaky smile takes up residence on his face. 

“Sorry, no, you’re right, out on the beach that was—that was careless of me. Sorry, DW, I’ll be better about that from now on.”

Panic leaps in Drake’s chest, making his throat feel tight. “No, Launchpad, that’s not what I’m saying. I like—”

Drake bites his tongue before he can say  _ I like hearing you say my name.  _ He flushes, acknowledging that nearly drowning might’ve done a number on his impulse control. 

“I just…” Launchpad exhales heavily, shakily. “You really scared me. I couldn’t find you for the longest time and I started to think that maybe you hadn’t gotten off the blimp in time, that you were hurt, or you’d drowned, and I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t even  _ find  _ you.”

“But you did find me,” Drake says gently, clutching his blanket tightly over his chest and wishing he had the courage to reach for Launchpad’s hand. “And look, I’m totally fine!”

Launchpad hunches over in his seat, sweeping a hand through his hair and leaving it in disarray. He laughs without humor. 

“I know,” he begins, “I know you’re fine. But a part of me still can’t believe it. Like I’m imagining that you’re here with me, that you’re safe. You always get hurt, Drake, and there’s never anything I can do about it. What happens when you  _ can’t  _ get back up? If something were to happen to you I don't think I could take it.”

Drake swallows against the stone lodged in his throat, and he  _ aches  _ at the grief in his partner’s voice. “Launchpad, I had no idea—”

“I love you,” Launchpad says without looking up. 

Drake gapes, and his eyes immediately well with tears. “What?” he croaks. 

Launchpad rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, his smile a barely there thing. “Sorry. I know it’s a lot at once. But I’ve wanted to tell you for...man, for a long time. You don’t have to say anything. I just...I wanted you to know, y’know?”

Exhaustion replaced with intense, disbelieving adrenaline, Drake scrambles forward, desperately seeking out Launchpad’s hand with his own. Only they’re clasped does Launchpad lift his head, blinking in surprise. Drake lets out a sound that’s not quite a laugh and not quite a sob. 

Even in the privacy of his mind, he’s never said the words. Never put a name to the fondness that overwhelms him until he aches with it, the way he wants to hold Launchpad’s hand and never let go, the bereavement that pierces him come down, when they always part ways.

All of those feelings have a name that he’s never uttered. 

“Launchpad,” Drake says, voice breaking, splintering, and mending all at once, “I love you too.  _ Of course  _ I love you.”

“What?” Launchpad says, eyes wide. 

Drake reaches out to cradle Launchpad’s face between his two trembling hands, as he’s imagined doing for weeks. 

“I love you,” he pronounces once more, and finds now that he’s said the words he could say them a million times more. Every day, if Launchpad will let him. “And I’m sorry for scaring you, for making you think I didn’t love you too.”

Launchpad doesn’t speak, but his eyes shine with unshed tears and he swallows thickly. Drake doesn’t think he’s breathing. He feels Launchpad’s hands settle on his arms over the blanket, and Launchpad’s gaze drops to his beak. He looks back up to meet Drake’s eyes. 

“Can I?” he asks, so quiet Drake almost doesn’t hear him. He can’t even finish the question, and Drake thinks his heart may burst. 

Rather than answering with words, Drake leans forward and closes what little distance remains between them. 

The moment they meet, Launchpad lets out an utterly unfair, broken gasp of a sound that tears Drake up inside. So he chases it, soothing hidden pain with careful, unhurried kisses, caressing Launchpad’s cheekbone with his thumb. His other hand he buries in Launchpad’s hair, just cradling the back of his head, while he channels his words of love into action, into feeling. 

Launchpad lets the first aid kit slip off his legs and onto the floor of the Thunderquack, where it lands with a thud. The sound startles Drake enough that he pulls away slightly, and in that time Launchpad reaches under the blanket to wrap an arm around Drake’s waist and pull him onto his lap. Launchpad holds him close, lowering his head until he can bury his face in juncture of Drake’s neck and shoulder. His wide shoulders shudder under Drake’s hands, his chest rapidly rising and falling against Drake’s own. 

Drake cards his hands through Launchpad’s hair and presses his beak to his temple in a long, lingering kiss. He moves to cradle the back of Launchpad’s head, pressing his check against the spot he’d just kissed. 

“For the record,” Drake speaks into the delicate quiet, “you’re not allowed to get hurt either. I’m sort of fond of you too, you know.” 

Launchpad laughs, a beautiful, breathless sound. He squeezes Drake just a little bit tighter. 

“I know,” he murmurs, and Drake can hear the smile in his voice, “I know.”

  
  
  



End file.
